


8 Months

by spirkylurkey



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: "What if AOS Kirk Was on Tarsus IV" Exploration Fic, M/M, Tarsus IV, just a lil thang, mostly about Tarsus, no graphic sexual assualt only aftermath, still a bit disturbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 16:54:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7765825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spirkylurkey/pseuds/spirkylurkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James T. Kirk spent eight months on Tarsus IV. He will spend years trying to rid them from his bones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	8 Months

**Author's Note:**

> Please take note: the sexual assault in this fic is described non-explicitly, but the aftermath contains a bit of blood and the like.  
> I didn't want to hurt Jim like this but there are not near enough Tarsus IV fics out there!!!

He remembers, can always remember clearly the way things went on Tarsus. How the citizens were told that things would be fair. How they quickly became unfair as the rich hoarded. The emptiness at the bottom of his gut and how they had beckoned, those men, pudgy where everyone else was so, so thin. The way they looked at him, little Jim, barely fourteen and waifish with big blue eyes. And so it went.  
. . .  
He ate the hunks of bread made from their failing grain and swept bits of cheese from their table where they oftentimes kept him and in the quiet of night he secreted them away to those little ones with their bones pressed against their thin skin. After dinner he would think of them, the children, as he lay and let them push and pull and tug at him, as repeated back the filth they asked him to say and as he lie, at the end, on the floor next to them, wrapped up in a blanket and cradling whatever blood and bruises they gave him to earn his keep.  
. . .  
When the ‘fleet came for him and asked him what he was doing in the homes of the rich and powerful, he said he was helping. And they swaddled him in the markings of Starfleet, the organization of the too-little, too-late and he let his resentment for them slowly seep out of him. But the hollow in his bones still remained and he kept on, hoping to fill it. Then came Bones, so aptly named it felt like destiny for the first time in little Jim’s life. Bones helped Jim drink himself half to death just to forget, and then looped his arm around Jim’s shoulders to walk him home. It was the only touch that Jim could stand from anyone. He kept going, maneuvering through the lessons and the professors and the bureaucracy so sweetly. He knew, after all, those charming words and how to contort them, had learned them from the mouths of those who had contorted him.  
. . .  
He glides easily onto Pike’s ship, meeting people, making ties to help him rise. He finds that being The Dead Captain’s Son easily overshadows being The Boy from Tarsus IV, especially since those files are sealed for now. It fills him with relief, that knowledge, and he meets Spock, who sees him as neither of those things. The first creature to be unmoved by his charming words, to outright refuse them. Spock is warmed-over steel, roughened by sandpapered words and cold men. He is Kirk’s opposite, and after a time, after chess and spiced Vulcan tea and Spock’s mother meeting her end, Kirk feels the stirrings in his chest that he thought he could never have after he felt the still of the floor under his bloodied thighs. And Spock touches him, gentle, soft. Kirk stays deathly still when his hands venture for the first time. Spock asks after his well-being before the first finger has even touched his bare skin, and Kirk, not wanting to ruin things, bats his concern away. Spock will not have it. His hands slide up to easier places and they merely lie there.  
. . .  
It is there, in almost that same position on Spock’s federation issued bed in his Federation issued sleeping quarters, that he tells him how the Federation failed him every night for a blinding eight months. Spock listens. Spock says nothing. Spock holds him until the wetness spilling from his eyes has dried into Spock’s uniform. Spock whispers “t’hy’la” over and over again into his skin. For the first time since everything went to hell, James Kirk feels like he can breathe.


End file.
